Chapter 5 - THE OFFERNathan canceled their second date.
He gave Hannah no explanation.
Only a message.
Something came up. I’m sorry.
She answered:
Okay.
That one word bothered him all night.
The following morning she didn’t text.
Neither did he.
Nathan told himself distance was necessary.
Daniel Price had disappeared.
Vanessa denied everything.
The grainy footage was insufficient for criminal charges.
Nathan’s security team discovered that two shell companies involved in the redevelopment project traced back to offshore accounts.
Someone had moved millions.
This was bigger than an eviction.
And Nathan had made Hannah visible.
Three days later, Rachel walked into his office.
“You’re an idiot.”
Nathan didn’t look up.
“Good morning.”
“She likes you.”
He kept reading.
“You should knock.”
“She thinks you lost interest.”
That stopped him.
Nathan slowly raised his eyes.
“Did she say that?”
Rachel folded her arms.
“No. Which is worse.”
He leaned back.
Rachel had introduced them because she volunteered with Bridge House twice a month.
Unlike Nathan, she had inherited their mother’s ability to ask questions nobody wanted to answer.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Tell her the truth.”
“I’m protecting her.”
Rachel laughed.
“From what? Information?”
“From people connected to Daniel.”
“She’s already involved.”
“I can reduce exposure.”
“You mean abandon her.”
Nathan stood.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re just using expensive vocabulary.”
His sister left.
Nathan stared at the door.
Thirty minutes later he was driving to Bridge House.
Hannah wasn’t there.
“Where is she?” he asked Marcus.
The boy looked up from a workbook.
“She went to the library.”
Nathan found her two blocks away carrying three boxes of donated books.
He immediately took the top two.
She looked surprised.
“You canceled.”
“I know.”
“You disappeared.”
“I know.”
“That was rude.”
“Yes.”
She stopped walking.
Nathan stopped too.
“I received a threat.”
Her expression changed.
He told her everything.
The footage.
Daniel.
Vanessa.
The phone call.
Hannah listened without interrupting.
Then she said, “You should have told me.”
“I wanted you safe.”
“So you decided for me?”
Nathan knew better than to answer.
She shook her head.
“You’re very bad at relationships.”
“I have two divorces proving that.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t entirely a joke.”
Hannah crossed her arms.
“What do you want from me?”
The question frightened him.
Because he knew the answer.
More than he should.
More than he was ready to admit.
“I want you not to get hurt because of me.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Nathan placed the boxes on the sidewalk.
“I want another date.”
Hannah blinked.
“A real one.”
“You vanished for three days.”
“I panicked.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Billionaire Nathan Mercer panicked?”
“I’m starting to regret honesty.”
She fought a smile.
He continued.
“I don’t know how to do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Care about someone without calculating the cost.”
Hannah became very still.
Nathan looked almost angry with himself.
“When you didn’t text me, I checked my phone approximately forty times.”
“Approximately?”
“Forty-seven.”
She smiled.
“And I hated that.”
“Romantic.”
“I’m working on it.”
Hannah considered him.
“One condition.”
“Name it.”
“No expensive restaurant.”
“Fine.”
“No private chef.”
“Fine.”
“No helicopter.”
“I don’t use helicopters for dates.”
“No buying the restaurant because you dislike the service.”
“That happened once.”
“Nathan.”
“Fine.”
Their second date was at a twenty-four-hour diner.
Hannah ordered pancakes.
Nathan ordered eggs.
The entire meal cost twenty-seven dollars.
He loved it.
Halfway through breakfast, Hannah asked, “If money disappeared tomorrow, who would you be?”
Nathan stared.
“You ask alarming questions while eating syrup.”
“Answer.”
He thought for a long time.
“I don’t know.”
“That scares you.”
“Yes.”
Hannah cut a pancake.
“I think you’d still be the man who repaired Marcus’s book.”
Nathan looked away.
No compliment had affected him like that.
When they left, snow had begun falling.
Light.
Quiet.
Nathan walked her toward her apartment.
She stopped beneath a streetlamp.
He looked at her.
“Marcus isn’t here.”
Hannah smiled.
“No.”
Nathan stepped closer.
“Good.”
This time, when he kissed her, there was no hesitation.
No performance.
No calculation.
Just warmth in the freezing Chicago night.
Hannah’s gloved hand touched his coat.
Nathan forgot every reason he had given himself not to want this.
Then headlights flashed.
A camera shutter clicked.
Nathan turned sharply.
A photographer stood across the street.
“Damn it.”
By morning the photographs were everywhere.
BILLIONAIRE MERCER KISSES STRUGGLING NONPROFIT TEACHER.
One website listed Hannah’s salary.
Another found her apartment building.
A reporter appeared outside Bridge House.
Hannah was horrified.
Nathan was furious.
Then Mercer Development’s board summoned him.
The chairman, George Whitman, slid a document across the conference table.
“End the relationship.”
Nathan stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Bridge House is involved in a disputed Mercer property. Your romantic involvement creates a conflict of interest.”
Nathan looked around the room.
Eleven board members.
Several avoiding eye contact.
George continued.
“The press is suggesting you’re altering corporate decisions because of your girlfriend.”
“She isn’t my girlfriend.”
The words sounded wrong immediately.
George raised an eyebrow.
Nathan corrected himself.
“That isn’t the point.”
“The point is fiduciary responsibility.”
“What are you asking?”
“Remove yourself from the Bridge House investigation and discontinue personal contact with Hannah Cole until this situation is resolved.”
Nathan laughed.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
Nathan stood.
“No.”
George’s expression hardened.
“You can lose control of this company.”
“Then call the vote.”
Silence.
Nathan leaned forward.
“But understand something first.”
His voice became dangerously calm.
“If anyone on this board helped Daniel Price steal money through that redevelopment project, I will find out.”
Several faces changed.
Tiny reactions.
Nathan noticed one.
Board member Charles Bell.
Sweat appeared along his forehead.
Nathan filed it away.
That afternoon Hannah received a package at Bridge House.
Inside was a check.
Five million dollars.
From the Mercer Family Foundation.
She stared at it in disbelief.
A note read:
Enough to fund Bridge House for years. Take the money and walk away from Nathan.
There was no signature.
Hannah called Nathan.
“You sent me something?”
“No.”
Her blood went cold.
She photographed the check.
Nathan saw it.
Then whispered one word.
“Vanessa.”
Hannah looked at the five-million-dollar offer.
Every financial problem in her life could disappear.
Bridge House could survive.
Children could get new books.
Staff could receive raises.
Programs could expand.
All she had to do was take the one thing every woman in Nathan’s life had apparently wanted.
His money.
May you like
Instead, Hannah tore the check in half.
And Nathan Mercer realized he had never trusted anyone more.
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